


Recognition

by Greykite



Category: Horus Heresy - Various Authors, Warhammer 40k (Novels) - Various Authors
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Missing Scene, Resurrection, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:01:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23462107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greykite/pseuds/Greykite
Summary: She doesn't recognize him at first.
Relationships: Argel Tal/Cyrene Valantion
Kudos: 15





	Recognition

She doesn't recognize him.

("I can't take my helmet off anymore," he said, without a trace of guilt, as if it were something very simple. She recognized the voice - or so it seemed to her: through the speakers, the tone of any Astartes became similar.)

He doesn't leave her side - as far as possible for a commander who needs to train his warriors and oversee the ship's crew. He looks at her as if she might disappear at any moment. Turn back into a withered corpse. (And he doesn't ask - what she would prefer herself; she can be grateful for that.)

It's not safe for her to go out. This is what he says every time, and she shakes her head every time: she doesn't want to. Not now.

He promises to pick up the bodyguards for her - and gives her some names that she won't recognize either. She doesn't ask about Dagotal, Torgal or Malnor; in any case, she wouldn't recognize them too.

He leans closer to her, and she shivers. She clasps her hands in her lap, but can't help herself. He moves as far away as possible until her back is against the wall.

The lenses of his helmet reflect her face: twice. (She closes her eyes then, but her head is still dizzy, and it sinks lower and lower until her forehead touches her knees.)

 _I'm sorry_ , she wants to say. _Forgive me_ , but it's she here who is the Confessor of the Word. Who would accept her own confession of guilt?

The silence stretches between them as her eyes wander in bewilderment over his armor, his new insignia. How could she have forgotten that the Astartes are so huge? They seemed close to her in the past. Seemed brothers.

She doesn't know how to think about them now.

_("My brothers are dead," she hears a voice that is not her own; from somewhere in her head - or from the door.)_

He sits at the foot of her bed, holding between his knees a spear that belonged to the Custodian, her killer. The golden glow of the weapon makes her feel slightly sick.

There is a knocking at the door, pounding, howling, begging to be let in.

When the screams get too loud, he gets up - and that's when...

When his armor ripples, twisting, sprouting spines and bony outgrowths; when the lenses of his helmet become slanted clumps of blue-black darkness, when the claws with a wet _clang_ extend from his fingers - right into the half-open doorway...

When the demon inside him screams in a frenzy, and breaks bones, and splashes blood and marrow on the dark floor...

That's _when_ she recognizes him.

"Argel Tal," she says. Her voice is hoarse and brittle. "Argel Tal."

He turns to her, and his bloody claws touch her scarlet robe. She remembers the touch - the clumsy embrace of those paws as the life drained out of her, through coughing and bleeding. 

_(What have they done to you?)_

She puts her hands on his face, which is red and wet like fresh meat, and circles the edges of the huge fanged mouth. An almost gentle growl comes from his throat, followed by a low hiss; the wings, ragged and bony, close around them both like a tent.

He is so like those who tore, tormented, clawed at her soul in the abysses of the ether. The supreme predator who had snatched her from someone else's clutches - after the screeching, cruelly playful small entities.

There is a familiar, intimate horror in him; it can be endured, you can live with it, and it will be almost good. Almost wouldn't even hurt.

Cyrene almost weeps at this recognition.

Argel Tal just doesn't need to know that these tears aren't exactly tears of joy.


End file.
